My mouth nearly fell to the ground. Suddenly, I hated Jane as much as I did her husband.
“That is…” I started.
“A goddamn relief.” Hunter pretended to wipe his brow, chuckling to himself and taking another step back. He was almost at the door. I couldn’t figure out why he’d put space between us all of a sudden.
“I rarely throw the affair in my father’s face, but when I do, it always gives me the desired effect.”
“Which is?” I asked.
“Complete meltdown of the Fitzpatrick patriarch.”
“And your biological dad?” I stared at the ground when I asked. I was afraid of the answer.
Hunter waved the question off. “Not a person of interest. When I asked my mom, she pleaded insanity and said he was a male model who fucked off back to Eastern Europe after he was done with her. Which explains why I look nothing like Da, Cillian, and Aisling.”
Which explains why you look like a Greek god.
It helped me understand why he felt so hated here, why he was sent away, why he viewed himself as an airheaded playboy—a role his father had burdened him with, and he went along with. Hunter may have been one of the most sought-after bachelors in America, but the people he wanted attention and warmth from, his family, weren’t there for him.
He took another step back.
Suddenly, an overwhelming need to hug him consumed me, to a point where I wanted to squeeze the breath out of him until he knew he mattered to me.
“Why are you walking away from me?” I finally snapped, my brows furrowed. Hunter pushed the door open, took one step out the door.
“I would like to test a theory,” he said, moving one of his hands along his square, perfect jaw. “If I freeze you in friend-zone winter, will you run for my heat, or stay content with your useless little wings?”
“I’m not a butterfly.” I scowled, knowing he and my friends were right. I was catching feelings for him. I had the Hunter bug. But every time we came close to being something semi-real, I pulled away.
Now, I felt the urge to defy his father and his stupid agreement.
To break a promise.
To drown, lose gravity, make a mistake I couldn’t take back.
Hunter gave me his back, walking away, making the decision for us.
“You are my butterfly, Sailor. And maybe I’m not Gerald’s flesh and blood, but make no mistakes—when I finally catch you, I intend to capture you, too.”
Hunter left shortly after that, taking my car and not bothering with goodbyes. I didn’t blame him. It’d look suspicious if we left together after I’d defended him and we’d both disappeared for almost thirty minutes. Besides, my parents were happy to give me a ride home. They grilled me about life with Hunter throughout the drive, but it was nice to catch up with them. I noticed they asked about my shoulder out of concern, and about Aisling, Persy, and Emmabelle, but they refrained from talking to me about archery.
“Aren’t you going to ask how practice is going?” I sniffed from the back seat, looking for a non-Hunter-related subject. Archery was safe, a good topic. Dad met my eyes through the rearview mirror, side-nodding his head to Mom.
“Red, your stage.”
“We think you should enroll in a summer semester next year,” she said quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“What? Why?” I asked. My parents had always supported my craft, even when they were worried that was all I cared about.
“Something to fall back on,” Mom explained while Dad muttered, “We don’t want you to waste your life away on one thing.”
I quieted.
They thought I was wasting my life away?
That I wasn’t going to make it to the Olympics?
I stared out the window, fighting the sting in my eyes. It wasn’t just them, or the injury, or Hunter’s revelation about not being his father’s child, or the horrific dinner, or even Lana challenging me to come clean about what had happened between us all those years ago. What really bugged me was that there was a grain of truth to what everyone was saying about me.
I was obsessed with archery in a non-healthy way.
Sailor Brennan had managed to sail through life without going on dates, falling in love, going to parties, applying to college, or living; because everything posed a threat to archery. Love. Friendships. School.
I tried to convince myself the sacrifices were necessary to get to where I wanted to be in my career, but the truth was, they weren’t. Lana got to enjoy both worlds. She had the dates and the boyfriends and the clothing lines and the movies and the archery.
Why was I pushing Hunter away time and time again, when it was obvious this whole agreement was just another way for his dad to punish him for not being his?
So what if we were going to say goodbye soon? He was here now. That was more than I could hope for.
When my father pulled the Maserati to a stop at my building, the silence stretched in the car. I wanted to cut it with a knife.
“Look,” Dad said at the same time Mom sighed. “Sailor, we didn’t mean—”
“No,” I said, pushing my door open. “Save it. You’re right. I haven’t been living. I’ve been hiding away from life behind a bow, staring at it with one eye shut. But I’ll get better. At least I’ll try to—not only for my sake, but for yours, too.”
I slammed the door and ran into the lobby, letting the doors swallow me. I didn’t look back to see if they were waiting until I’d gotten into the elevator safely.
I knew they did.
They always waited, watched, cared for me.
Mom and Dad were my summer.
The apartment was dark and cool. There was something clinical and hotel-like about it, due to the air conditioner working overtime and the sleek, sophisticated furnishings that offered no personality. Up until now, I hadn’t known how Hunter could stand it. Now I knew—he had no idea what a real home looked like.
I kicked my shoes off, my heart tap-tap-tapping impatiently, like an index finger over a surface.
I tiptoed my way to his room. The door was ajar. It was always ajar, a constant invitation. I pushed it open, and my heart sank when I realized he was fast asleep, his long, lithe limbs spread lazily on his California king bed. His skin was bronze, his taut muscles extended. Even asleep, he had the face of a sinister devil, framed by the blond curls of an angel.
Inwardly cursing myself for being late and him for being tired, I was about to stumble back to the living room and put something on Netflix, too amped up to go to bed. Just as I took a step back, Hunter’s voice, smooth and rough, came to me through the dark.
“Let me warm you up, aingeal dian.”
I turned back, walking into his room like I was facing death row. With every step I took, I felt like I was shedding, leaving something behind.
Step. Fear.
Step. Anxiety.
Step. Obsession.
Step. Overthinking.
I reached the foot of his bed. He extended his hand to me. I didn’t take it. Not yet. Something stopped me. I knew better than to ask for some kind of assurance, so it wasn’t about that. Still, I was uneasy. On edge.
Hunter sat upright, took my hand in his, and brought it to his heart. His bare chest was warm and hard. His skin smooth behind his chest hair. There was no hint of humor in his voice.